“… when I heard Esmerelda outside and raising a fuss. Afraid she’d gotten into the flower beds again—she digs something terrible—or maybe had another rat, I went to look out the window. And what do you think I saw?”
How come I haven’t noticed before now that she has a tiny mole on the highest point of her right cheek, almost to her hairline?
Hannah smacked his arm. “Slade! Are you listening to me?”
Slade jumped and focused on her. “Of course I am. Aren’t I standing right here?”
She frowned out her vexation. “Then, answer me.”
He blinked, realizing he had no clue how, and then made a sweeping survey of the room, detail by fine detail, as he desperately searched his memory for anything he recalled her saying. Finally, he looked at her and placed his newly knighted husbandhood on the line. “Esmerelda?”
Hannah laughed. Slade let his breath out. “Of course Esmerelda, silly. Didn’t I just say she was in the gardens?” Then she turned serious and still. “But, Slade, she wasn’t the only one.”
Now she really did have his full attention. A creeping coldness clutched his belly. “Who else was out there, Hannah?”
Wide-eyed, fingers all but covering her mouth, she whispered, “Olivia.”
Slade stared at her. At the silver and white wrapped packages. At the comfortably shabby damask sofa behind her. He stared as if he expected them to interpret this woman for him. He finally swung his gaze back to her. “But didn’t you send her to post the letter to your sisters?”
Hannah nodded, darkly … deeply. “Now you see. I knew you would understand. That’s why I sent for you and waited.”
Great. Slade understood nothing. Absolutely nothing. Here she’d shown her newfound faith and trust in him, and he couldn’t figure out what the hell she was talking about. Irked at himself, he frowned his eyebrows down over the bridge of his nose. “Hannah, I don’t understand one blamed thing. Not one. What have you been talking about—since I got home?”
She slumped and rolled her eyes. “For evermore. Think, Slade. Olivia was in the gardens. Do you think she’s going to post a letter in the pond? Or the summer cottage?”
He stared off blankly into space. Then, thinking he had her meaning, he looked back down at her and puffed up like an especially slow-witted student who finally has the right answer. “Ahh, you want me to berate her for not posting your letter. I’ll tend to it right now.”
Hannah screeched. Slade jumped, nearly recoiling when she gripped his arms and tried to shake him. But she succeeded only in shaking herself and getting more and more worked up. “Forget the letter! Forget it! When I saw her, she was worming her way back through the iron fence. I saw her squeeze through the bars and then watched until she ducked out of the hedges and came running back to the house. Slade, she’d been at Cloister Point.”
Slowly turning to stone as her words sank in, Slade looked right at her. And then through her. “Son of a bitch.”
Hannah exhaled a ragged breath, kept her grip on his coat, and laid her forehead against his chest. “Finally. What are we going to do?”
The despairing note in her voice only intensified Slade’s reaction. His temper reaching a quick fever-pitch, he gripped Hannah’s arms, holding her back from him. “Where is she now?”
“I sent her—” The despair on Hannah’s face suddenly bled into a wariness that rimmed her blue-green eyes in white. “No, Slade. You still don’t understand.”
Seething now, Slade gripped her tighter, roaring out, “Oh, I understand. Maybe more than you do. You’re protecting her and putting both our lives in danger. Don’t fight me on this, Hannah. Tell me! Where is she? If I have to find the little traitor myself, I’ll tear her limb from limb, I swear to God.”
“Traitor? No! Slade, you can’t. She’s not—”
Slade pulled her against him. “Where is she, for the last time?”
“I won’t tell you. She can’t be—”
“She can’t be anything but a spy for the same people who’ve had half your family murdered. And you and I are next. I won’t let that happen, do you hear me? I’ll find her myself. And when I do…” Slade trailed his sentence off, intending the ominous silence that followed.
When Hannah began to whimper and shake her head, he set her away from him, pointing at her as she backed up to the damask sofa and nearly fell over a package at her heels. “Stay here.”
Turning, he ripped open the door, held on to it, and looked back at her. “I mean it, Hannah. You put this in my hands, so now you let me deal with it.”
With that he stepped across the threshold and jerked the door closed behind him.
* * *
Sick inside, close to screaming aloud in fear as Slade slammed the door behind him, Hannah clutched at the soft and sagging sofa cushions behind her. She’d unleashed a murderous rage in Slade. He’ll kill Olivia.
That thought galvanized her into action. She jerked upright, knowing she had to stop him. But how? Being her father’s daughter, she felt in her pocket until her hand closed over the familiar shape of her pocket pistol. No. Not him. She couldn’t.
But still, she might be able to use it to get his attention. That decided, she scurried to the door and opened it. Balancing her need for stealth with her need for haste, she held her breath and listened. She heard Slade’s booted steps thundering across the foyer. Dear God. She’d never catch him. Dudley! Hannah slipped out of the room, watched as Slade began taking the stairs two at a time. She then fled down the long hallway to the dining room.
The sounds of luncheon in progress, Isabel talking and Dudley laughing, met her ears before she turned the corner into the room and grabbed their startled attention. Isabel put a hand to her throat. Dudley came to his feet and rounded the table. Hannah’s breathless momentum carried her to the table’s edge. Dudley clutched at her arms. “Hannah, what’s wrong?”
She grabbed his plaid sleeve and gasped out, “Help me. Slade’s going to … kill Olivia. Upstairs. Her room. Hurry.”
From across the table came Isabel’s shocked cry of “Kill her? Dear Lord, what on earth for?”
Hannah ignored her, knowing she didn’t dare waste time and breath on more words—or chance looking away from Dudley until she was sure he understood the urgency required. The large man stared at her for less than a second before his face hardened. “Stay here.” He let go of her, loping from the room like an angry buffalo.
Both palms flat on the table, arms straight, head hanging between her shoulders, Hannah took several gulps of air. She focused all her senses on listening for the sound of Dudley’s pounding feet on the stairs. At last, she heard him. Please, God, let him be in time. And as soon as she could get air into her lungs, she’d be right behind him. Damn this corset. She should’ve left it in the hallway where Slade threw it.
It was another moment before she realized that Isabel was at her side and patting her back. Hannah turned to her grandmother-in-law, and read the question in the older woman’s eyes.
“Tell me what happened, Hannah.”
Hannah shook her head. “Have to … stop him.”
“Stop him from what? What has Olivia done?”
Hannah turned her back on the table, perching her bottom against its edge. “Olivia was at Cloister Point. I saw her sneaking back through the fence.”
Isabel never even blinked. Her face became a hard mask. “Then Slade must throw her off the property.”
Hannah held the white-haired woman’s steady gaze. When her breathing calmed more, she spoke her mind. “What if she’s not guilty of anything?”
Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Your own word for her behavior was ‘sneaking.’ Now, obviously you don’t think she went over there for tea, or you wouldn’t have sent for Slade. Am I right?”
Contrition sending her gaze to her slippers, Hannah nodded.
“I’m afraid there’s only one explanation, Hannah. And you know what it is—she’s in collusion with Cyrus and Patience.”
Hannah looked up at Isabel, putting a hand on the older woman’s thin, satin-covered arm. “Couldn’t there be another explanation?”
“I can’t imagine what it could be.”
Hannah lowered her hand to grip the table’s edge. “I can’t believe there’s an underhanded bone in Olivia’s body. If she has dealings with them, they’re forcing her somehow.”
“More like bribing her. That’s their style.”
Had Olivia betrayed her? “You honestly think Olivia would accept money to endanger my life?”
Isabel shrugged. “It’s possible. Money does strange things to some people. You need look no further than next door for proof of that.”
Hannah knew everything Isabel said was true. But she just couldn’t believe it. Or accept that she might have to deal with Olivia too when retribution was dealt. “I hope you’re wrong, Isabel.” Hannah firmed her lips and shoved away from the table, heading for the room’s entryway.
“Hannah?”
She stopped and turned back to Isabel, waiting. Isabel stood where she’d left her, her hands clasped under her bosom. She appeared very small, very old. “If we act harshly with Olivia and are wrong about her, at least you’ll be alive. But I couldn’t bear knowing you died because we were right—and yet did nothing. We did that before with Cyrus. And it cost you dearly.”
Hannah held Isabel’s gaze as she took her words to heart. “Yes, it did. I understand your concern. But there just has to be another explanation.”
Isabel put a hand down on the table beside her. “But there isn’t. Olivia has betrayed you. Is not Slade’s reaction the same as yours when you found your parents? And then, was it not a desire for revenge that brought you here?”
Stung by the truth, Hannah nodded at the older woman.
Isabel went on, in a softer tone. “We feel the same way about protecting you. My grandson may not realize it yet himself, but he loves you. As do I.”
Fat, hot tears filled Hannah’s eyes. She raised her head, trying to blink them back and maintain her shaky control. “I love you, too. But this goes beyond that. Guilty or not, I can’t allow Slade to harm Olivia.”
Isabel sighed. “I tell you, he won’t harm the girl. But go, if you must.”
“I must, Isabel. You didn’t see his face or hear his words. I did.” With that, Hannah slowly turned away. Once she was out of Isabel’s sight, she took to her heels, certain the demons of hell were chasing her. Perhaps they were, and perhaps their names were Revenge.
Hannah clutched at her skirts and flew up the stairs. By the time she’d climbed almost to the third floor, her lungs burned and her legs wobbled. Gasping, holding on to the stairwell’s wall with every step, she kept her sight on the landing ahead of her. The servants’ quarters.
Gritting her teeth in determination, she triumphed over the last few stairs. Finally she stood on the landing. Clutching at her skirts, Hannah looked up and down the long hallway that stretched to either side of her. Something’s wrong. She cocked her head like Esmerelda did when she heard a bird chirping. But Hannah heard nothing, save her own rasping attempts at breathing. Sweat trickled down her spine and between her breasts. There was a faint ringing in her ears. Other than that, the hallway was ominously quiet. Hannah fished in her pocket for her pistol and drew it out.
Hannah tried not to think about whom she intended to use her weapon on as she looked at door after door after door down each corridor. All of them the same, all of them closed. Did she have time to try them all? Indecision mounted while Hannah chewed at her bottom lip, hoping for a sound. A bump against a wall. Anything to alert her to where they were.
Just then, a scream, as jagged as lightning on a summer night, tore through the hallway’s silence.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hannah jerked toward the sound, hurrying her steps and tuning her hearing to the echoes of the cry. Another scream, a raw sound, stopped Hannah’s feet in front of the third door on her left. Her heart hammering against her ribs, she took a deep breath and turned to face the door. Muffled male voices from inside the room competed with the ragged sobs and tearful wails of a young girl.
Tensing in anticipation of what she’d see, Hannah attacked the door, jerking it open and stepping across the threshold. Taking advantage of the surprised confusion her entrance spurred, she quickly leveled her gun in a steady aim.
“Don’t shoot!” Dudley, closest to Hannah’s gun and blocking the view of the others in the room, obligingly dropped to the floor, lying facedown.
“What the—?” Seated on a spindly-looking wooden chair, against the room’s far wall, and in a straight line with Hannah’s weapon, Slade went wide-eyed and jerked backward, conking his head against the wall behind him. Grimacing, cursing, clutching two-handed at his head, he reversed his movements to lean forward over his own legs. Then, as if talking to his boots, he croaked out, “Put that damned peashooter down before you hurt someone.”
On the narrow bed, Olivia jerked over onto her back and gasped. She then renewed her wailing. “Don’t kill me! I didn’t want to do it! They made me!”
They? Slade and Dudley? Hannah kept her pistol aimed at Slade, but she looked now at Olivia. No blood. No bruises even. “Are you okay, Olivia?”
Still talking to his boots, Slade answered for the girl. “Hell, yes, she’s okay. I talked with her and then found Jonathan in his room and sent him down to get Rigby for me. Didn’t you pass the boy on the way up?”
“I don’t know any Jonathan, and I passed no one.”
Slade sat up. His eyes were reddened and watery from bumping his head. “Then obviously he was already off and running before you came blazing up here.” He paused, looking from her face to her gun and back to her face. “I’m taking care of it, Hannah. Put that damned pistol away.”
But as he stared at her, at her gun, and she didn’t yield, his face hardened. “You still don’t trust me the least little bit. I see that now. And to think I—” His voice trailed off as he shook his head at her, eyeing her as if she were a disgusting something he’d just found stuck to the bottom of his boot.
Dying inside from the look on her husband’s face, Hannah felt the first twinges of guilt tug at her arms, making them feel heavy. She glanced over to Olivia, saw a wet, red face and stringy hair all mussed. But otherwise, she was fine, just like Slade said. She then looked down at Dudley, saw a fair impression of a bear rug on the bare floor. He would never hurt or force a mere girl like Olivia to do anything. Slowly she lowered her arms and her pistol as she looked back at Slade. And knew in her heart that it was too late.
Because his face was now an implacable mask of hidden emotions. He sat on the tiny chair as if it were a throne, his muscled legs spread, and his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve made your bed, Hannah. And now I’m going to let you lie in it.”
Hannah frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see soon enough. But tell me this, what’d you think I was doing?”
“You … you said you’d kill her. That’s what I thought you were doing.”
Olivia jerked around to stare at Slade and burst out crying again.
Over the girl’s wails, he shouted, “For crying out loud, Olivia—cease and desist. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Olivia immediately calmed to loud gulps and ragged breaths, keeping her brown-eyed gaze on Slade.
Shaking his head, he looked at Hannah again. “You think me capable of murdering a child? I spoke rashly, yes. But I never said I’d kill her. I admit to wanting to wring her little neck, but running up all those stairs has a way of making a man more open to discussion once he gets up here.” He eyed her gun pointedly. “Apparently, the climb doesn’t have the same effect on a woman.”
Hannah didn’t know what to say. She’d erred terribly in not trusting Slade. She knew that now. And there wasn’t anything she could do or say to undo her actions. That was the worst part. She remained frozen in position as she stared at her husband. She watche
d as he shifted in his chair, raising a hand to probe gingerly at the back of his head.
Olivia’s sobbing became hiccoughs about the same time Slade wearily nudged Dudley with his foot. “Get up, Ames.”
“Does she still have the gun aimed at my heart?” came his muffled voice.
Slade gave Hannah a penetrating look as he answered the still-prostrate man. “No, my brave friend. It’s pointing at the floor now—where you are.”
“Do tell? Then I want no part of it.” Dudley came inelegantly to his feet and dusted himself off.
Hannah looked again to Slade and found his black eyes, like twin gun barrels, pinning her to the spot and accusing her. A guilty sadness crept through Hannah. Why hadn’t she listened to Isabel? She started to say something, anything, to apologize to him, but Slade spoke first.
“Either shoot me or put that damned gun away.”
“No!” Olivia sat up on her rumpled bed and stretched her arm out in an imploring gesture. “Don’t shoot him. Mr. Wilton-Humes threatened my Colette—my baby—if I wouldn’t spy on you. He said he’d hurt her and my mum, if I didn’t. But Mr. Garrett’s going to help me. Oh, miss, please spare him.”
Hannah’s eyes widened as Olivia spoke. Her first fleeting thought was she’d been right—Olivia hadn’t betrayed her for money. She was being threatened. But more than that, Hannah focused on the girl’s revelation. “Your baby? Colette is your baby?”
The girl’s face lengthened morosely as she nodded. Quicker than two blinks, the gun was pocketed and Hannah was sitting on the bed, hugging Olivia to her. “You’re no more than a baby yourself.”
“I turned sixteen last month, miss,” Olivia blubbered, holding tightly to Hannah. “Don’t let them hurt my baby and my mum!”
“We won’t, we won’t. I swear I hate Cyrus and Patience!” Hannah held the girl a moment more before holding the young mother away from her at arm’s length. “How did this happen, Olivia—your being a mother at so young an age?”
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